Hey — are you listening?
You know about it, don't you. The oldest amusement park in Japan, tucked into a corner of Asakusa. Hanayashiki. It's been standing in that neighbourhood since the Showa era — children's laughter, the sound of the carousel, and… something else. Something that's always been there. The stories never really stop.
It's nothing I can swear to. But I've heard that quite a few people have heard it too.
There's a haunted house inside the park. One of those places full of mechanical scares. But according to someone who used to work there — and I should say, I didn't hear this directly, it came to me second-hand — when they'd walk through after closing to do their checks, they'd sometimes hear a child laughing. Not triggered by any mechanism. Just… there.
The effects run on sensors, you see. If no one's walking through, nothing should go off. But with no one there at all, from somewhere deep inside — a low, small sound. Kuk-kuk-kuk. Quiet, but perfectly clear.
At first, this person figured it was the ventilation or something, and ignored it. But then one night, they turned the corner at the far end of the corridor — and their feet stopped moving.
Standing in the thin green light of the emergency lamp was a child.
Small. Five or six years old, maybe. Facing away, back turned, just… standing there in front of the wall.
The staff member thought a guest had been left behind, and called out. "We're closed now."
The child didn't move.
They called out again. Nothing.
They walked closer — and the child was standing with its face pressed almost flush against the wall. Not even a centimetre of space. Face toward the wall, not a single twitch.
The staff member reached out to touch the child's shoulder — and stopped, just before making contact.
They couldn't quite explain why, apparently. Only that something about the back of the child's neck was wrong. The hair was plastered down, stuck flat, as if it were wet. But it hadn't rained that day.
They said they kept thinking: what if it turns around.
So they backed away, slowly, and got out.
The next day, when they mentioned it to one of the veteran staff, apparently the response was a look that said: oh, that again.
And then — there's no way to verify this part — apparently there used to be an old toilet block near where the haunted house now stands. The facilities have since been moved, but near that original spot, there had been reports going back years. A child standing facing the wall. A child that wouldn't respond when spoken to. Multiple sightings, over a long time.
When the park was renovated and the toilets relocated, the haunted house was built right next to where they used to be.
So among the staff, the whisper goes — it followed. Even after the place changed, the child still wanted to be there, and so it settled into the nearest spot it could find.
But you know what I think is the most frightening part —
Nobody knows what that child is looking at. Standing there, face to the wall, all this time.
Because it never turned around. Because no one has ever stayed long enough to find out.
